Page 6 of Green Flag (StormSprint #2)

Everly

The bar was dark and dull. A generic hotel bar, hidden from the families at the back of the ground floor.

It was large enough to host the festivities of Sunday, after the final race, when the winners — undoubtedly Nix and Frank Feldtt — would celebrate.

But for a Saturday night, it was dead. The only drinkers were a smoking couple in a booth in the far corner and the man at the bar nursing a drink.

That was fine. The men I intended to flirt with were the security at the track. I just needed a little drink of encouragement.

I wasn’t one to go to bars alone. Normally, wherever I wanted to go out, I had some acquaintances ready for a drink or five.

But the grid girls had all changed in the last four years, and though I knew a few faces, I didn’t want questions about the last four years, and if the inquiry into me came up, I might simply die on the spot. Or yawn loudly in their face.

I needed mental distance from the whispers about why I had left before. And I needed to forget the idea that my last shot at fucking up my dad wasn’t in reach anymore. Because I had nothing left at this point. No career, no money, no degree.

No one to count on.

Mum had moved back to America to live with her brother when her lupus flared and there was no support in England once Dad moved on so quickly.

Maybe I should take the bottle to my room. I wasn’t good company for anyone.

But what a waste of this dress.

The broad back on that barstool didn’t have to turn for me to recognise him.

I’d seen his face on TV more times than I could count.

He’d been everywhere in the last few months — a shaving advert, a cameo, countless interviews.

He’d even been on the BBC for his wholesome shenanigans.

Always with a humorous grin and ‘fuck me’ eyes.

He was becoming a new sex symbol across motorsport.

Those dark blonde curls, that muscular back, the jawline and the rugged fight in him — because he wasn’t just a racer, but a boxer — made people drool.

The way he’d spoken so gracefully about his cousin after taking his position on the Ciclati team, how he was all smiles and good boy politeness, made him the perfect fresh meat for the press.

This was probably his last night of freedom before the report turned his life upside down.

I doubted he wanted to be alone any more than I did tonight.

But I also doubted he wanted Cris Bacque’s daughter beside him.

I didn’t want to be Cris Bacque’s daughter tonight.

When he looked at me as I sat down, eyes hovering over my dress, I froze.

He was so similar to Alvaro Mendes. The calm confidence in his posture. From the dimples in the soft, meaningless smile he gave me to the thick brows, the nose, though this guy seemed to have had a few breakages.

He was hot as shit. Lickable. Fuckable.

Stay for one drink, Everly. Just one. You’ve got plans.

The trailer clock was ticking. I should be making my way to the paddock now.

I ran through my excuse to go to the trailer again and again. I left my medication in the pit box. I need to be let through.

To search those trailers for proof my dad was the drug trafficker.

“A pina colada, please,” I said to the bartender with a polite smile, feeling Luca’s eyes still on me as he put down his glass. I wanted his attention. “Put it on room 314, please.”

“Sure, I’ll need your room card,” he said before turning and getting out the cocktail shaker.

Luca leaned over the seat between us to stage-whisper, “I know that’s not your room.”

I shrugged, avoiding eye contact with him, because I knew I’d give myself away. “How do you know that?”

“Because it’s Cris Bacque’s.”

“He owes me,” I said with another shrug. Nonchalant.

“Hmm,” he grumbled and took another gulp.

“Are you going to tell on me?” I asked him sweetly, crossing my legs on the stool and facing him.

He cocked his head to the side and looked me over again, eyes slightly narrowed with humour. “It will only go on the Ciclati account anyway.”

“Not so sure about that,” I told him. “Not when they see the bill I can rack up.”

He grinned and really showed me the dimples that had been the same as Alv’s. Were the same as Alv’s.

A single whiskey wouldn’t scratch the surface if I were him.

“How much damage are you planning on causing, princess?”

I slid my jacket off my shoulders, hoping his eyes would rake over me again and note my exposed skin. My dress had the tiniest of straps. I bet he could tear them off with his teeth or the flick of his finger.

This man was short-circuiting my brain. I needed the security at the track to think that they had a chance with me, not Luca. But his deep voice and ‘princess’ heated my cheeks and below my navel.

“A lot. Let’s just say his debt is large.”

Luca frowned, the scar on one of his brows illuminated by the low light above our heads.

I always loved a bad boy. There was something about his golden appearance and the ruggedness of his past injuries that gave him a dangerous, protective inclination.

He looked like the type to fight for you— and win.

“You could say he owes me too,” Luca said, voice grave.

Fuck. That was true. If anyone hated my dad more than me… it would be him. With good reason.

He waved to the bartender. “Another of these, please. Same tab as hers.”

His jaw clenched and his fingers whitened as his grip on the glass strengthened. Maybe he’d understand, maybe he’d help…

But when he saw my smile, he gave me one in return, as if all the anger was easy to strip away. Not like mine.

“Really, I should be getting you drinks,” he said. “It’s quite nice having someone else foot our bill.”

Our bill? Was that just gentlemanly, or was that… flirting?

“As long as you don’t mind me joining you?”

I waved to the space between us and he moved into it without hesitation.

“Top shelf,” I called to the bartender as he started to make his drink.

We sat in silence as they were made. It was just me and his looming presence.

Men often felt the need to fill the silence. Talking about their hobbies, their sport, their abilities, all in the hopes of impressing and being able to pull down my panties. But not Luca. He sat and swilled his whiskey, comfortable in the quiet.

No doubt he was thinking about tomorrow.

“I know who you are,” I said without thinking.

He sang a line from my song so awfully that my eyes nearly popped out of my head. “And I know who you are.” His smile was full of humble humour as he took his drink from the bartender and thanked him for us. “Everly Bacque, it is an honour.”

“Is my last name why you’d be buying me drinks?”

He blinked into narrowed eyes, assessing me. “I don’t understand.”

I shuffled around in my seat so my knee was against his leg. “Planning to sleep with your boss’s daughter to get back at him?”

Oh, that last drink had taken more of a toll than I’d expected.

His chest rose and fell with a deep inhale, and he downed his drink in one swallow.

The bob of his Adam’s apple just did something to me.

Something in my nether region. It was about time something instigated some feeling down there, even if it was a thick pillar of a neck.

Thick enough for me to wrap my thighs around and ride.

“Is a large tab not enough for you?”

“No,” I said. If only he knew just how far I was planning to go.

He gestured to the barman for another and was silent while it was poured.

“I wouldn’t use you, Everly,” he said. “I have better morals.”

“I don’t,” I laughed and sipped my cocktail. “You’re better than me.”

He levelled me with a concerned look. “What’s he done to piss you off so much?”

I rolled my eyes. “Pissed isn’t the word.”

He gave a teasing grin, dimples deep and his face glowing. The flash of his teeth made my insides melt.

We finished our drinks and ordered more, chatting about tomorrow’s race and the way he knew some of the words to my song.

“For someone who had a hit single this year, I didn’t expect to find you taking a job at your dad’s work.”

When I didn’t respond, only drank my drink, staring straight ahead, he added, “Or drinking alone in a bar.”

“I don’t drink alone,” I told him, shaking my head and fighting a smile over his teasing.

Fuck. I looked at the clock hanging above the spirits.

God. It was nearly midnight. My plan to head to the track had gone down like the drinks—smooth, fast, and with absolutely no memory of when it disappeared.

“I was going to take a bottle back to my room.”

“That would be a waste of your dress.”

“Right?” I asked, unable to hide the excitement that we’d had the same thought.

I laughed and tried to stop it. The more alcohol I drank, the freer my cackle would become.

“Maybe I still will if you annoy me,” I said, shaking my head.

“Alone?”

And that was that. Insides melting, eyes on his. In my short dress, I was 95% sure he saw my thighs clench.

Maybe his morals weren’t that good. Maybe he was corruptible. Lucky for me, I specialised in temptation.

“I’m very particular about who I spend time with, Luca Mendes,” I told him with conviction.

“I’m honoured.”

I grinned. “You’re cocky.”

He leaned closer, his nose brushing my ear as he spoke. “You like it, though.”

My breath caught and I swallowed, hoping he wouldn’t notice. There was a challenge in his words. He wanted me to admit that I liked it… and I did, but I wasn’t going to voice it.

“I heard about the lovely team meeting you all had about me.”

“It was riveting,” he said, sitting straight again and putting on a deep voice to mock my father in a French accent, “ If anyone so much as touches my daughter, you’re dead .”

He leaned forward and slowly crawled his fingers over the bar to bash his pinky into mine.

It was a fleeting touch, not even a full second, but warmth rushed to my core at his cocky attitude that, yes, I did like.

I really laughed this time, the alcohol making my self-conscious buzz simmer far below the surface.

“You’re not scared?” I asked, pressing the side of my finger more firmly into his.

“What are they going to do? Fire me after they killed my cousin?”

I swallowed, looking away so he couldn’t see my shocked blinks. The report didn’t say he’d definitely die.

“I’m not scared of Ciclati.”

“Oh, really?” I asked with amusement, trying to shake off the serious conversation. Even Nix had started to toe the line more recently and he was… the face of Motorsport now.

His eye contact was intense. “Some things are worth the risk.”

He gestured at our entanglement.

“Well, now, I’m honoured,” I laughed.

My body oozed with tension. My heart was beating faster than usual and I prayed that my face only felt hot and didn’t look it.

To distract myself from his ever-piercing gaze, I ordered us a shot of tequila each.

The bartender pulled out some shot glasses and we downed them, both careful to use the hands that weren’t connected.

I wasn’t much of a big drinker. Not until I hit twenty. Now I swallowed tequila like water.

“You could lose your contract if you’re caught touching me, Luca Mendes.”

His face brightened at the danger, his finger started to run up the side of my hand, past my wrist and up my arm.

I pulled his hand to my bare knee. “If you’re going to touch me somewhere, at least make it somewhere my dad would disagree with wholeheartedly.”

“Is that right?” he asked, but his touch didn’t stay still. He stroked my skin.

Which would easily be seen by the rest of the… empty bar. There was no one else here now. The couple had gone and the smoke had cleared.

“Your knee?”

I shuffled down my seat, an inch or two closer to him. “There are plenty of other places you could touch,” I said, voice lowering as I leaned closer. “Places that are a little more fun.”

He straightened, eyes on mine as we sat parallel. Without looking away, he grabbed the whiskey and downed it. “You want fun? Nothing against your dad?”

“I want fun,” I said. “I haven’t had fun in so long.”

Luca smirked. “If you call me Daddy.”

I almost spat out my drink, but I knew he wasn’t serious when I saw his full grin, dimples cutting deep lines in his cheeks.

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” I promised, parting my legs slightly so his strokes could travel higher. “As long as it’s good.”

“It’ll be very good, Everly,” he said.

It was the first time he cast an actual shiver down my back, because at the same time, his touch travelled further up my thigh to the hem of my skirt. “Whatever you want. Just to blow off some steam.”

“Some steam, yeah,” I agreed, my voice already somewhat breathy.

“Your room or mine?”

“Yours,” I said without thinking. “Yours.”

“The bottle, please,” Luca asked and, with a wave of my dad’s room key, we took the top-shelf whiskey with us.